


Untouchable

by KivaEmber



Series: Wine Cellar [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Male!WoL - Freeform, Miqo'te!WoL - Freeform, Post-Stormblood, Pre-Patch 4.2, Romantic Fluff, Scars, Self-Indulgent, this is very self-indulgent and I make no apologies for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:50:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber
Summary: So, it turns out that Aymeric may potentially, possibly, kind of, have a thing for scars.





	Untouchable

There was a rumour about the Warrior of Light that said he was untouchable in battle.

It was a rumour that Aymeric once foolishly believed. Aza’s martial prowess was such that he appeared invincible, unflinchingly meeting every battle head on and walking away from it with a well-earned swagger. Vishap. Shiva. Ravanna. Bismark.The Grand Melee. Nidhogg. Thordon. Aza walked away from them all without even a hair out of place and the only way you knew he was even in battle at all was from the minor scuffs on his armour.

 _Untouchable_ , the rumours whispered, _Is he even mortal?_

But then Rhalgar’s Reach happened. Zenos happened. But before then the magic of the legend had waned with Aymeric, because.

Well.

Difficult to view Aza as untouchable once you had seen him naked.

 

* * *

 

“Hmm… and this one?”

Aymeric felt Aza shift against him, probably to look at where his fingers were lightly touching the scar running over the curve of his hip. It was thick and jagged, looking far too uneven to come from a blade. A beast, perhaps?

“Oh, that one… hmm,” Aza settled, and Aymeric felt his ear flick back in thought, tickling against his jawline, “Ah, right, it was Stone Vigil. Second time, with the dragon built like a brick shithouse.”

Aymeric snorted quietly at that, “So that’s why you were limping then.”

“It was a miracle I didn’t lose my leg, according to Crisp,” Aza’s tone was wry, and his calloused hand landed on Aymeric’s, coaxing it to rest over the firm plane of his stomach instead. “The damned thing clipped me with its tail and sent me flying across the room. Bluebird laughed herself sick because I looked so stupid.”

“You landed on your face, didn’t you?”

“Mhm,” Aza laughed quietly, his tail curling around Aymeric’s calf, “So you can add ‘broken nose’ to that too. And then, because clearly my day wasn’t bad enough, _another_ brick shithouse dragon came to join in on the fun and almost stepped on me.”

Aymeric winced in sympathy at the thought. He had only seen Aza in passing after the second Stone Vigil, and it had been when the both of them hovered in the realm between strangers and acquaintances, but he did vaguely recall Aza looking a little worn and scuffed.

“Luckily Crisp is a genius with White Magic,” Aza continued, “To be honest I think I’d be dead a thousand times over if it weren’t for her. Did I tell you about the time I was almost gored by a Behemoth?”

“About five times now,” Aymeric said, and he shifted his hand slightly to press against where he knew _that_ scar was – on Aza’s left side, where the horn had sheared through his armour and nearly split his side wide open. That was an injury survived only by sheer _luck_ , “and each time you tell it, it reminds me to send your healer friend a very generous fruit basket.”

“I know, it’s why she keeps telling me to tell you it. She loves the fruit baskets,” Aza said shamelessly, rubbing his thumb over Aymeric’s knuckles, “It almost makes me feel jealous. Where’s _mine_?”

“You tell me terrifying stories of how it’s a miracle you’ve survived to adulthood,” Aymeric said flatly, “You don’t deserve anything for that.”

“…that’s fair,” Aza sighed, and let out a quiet grunt as he stretched lazily. Aymeric closed his eyes and rested his cheek against the Miqo’te’s soft hair as he felt him press up against him before relaxing, “I forget most people don’t find the stories as funny as I do.”

“Perhaps not ‘funny’,” Aymeric murmured into Aza’s hair, “but definitely interesting.”

A pause.

“Though,” he continued with slow thoughtfulness, “it _does_ makes me wonder how those ‘untouchable’ rumours started, considering you’re in near constant danger of skewering yourself on your own sword.”

“Hey, I’m not that bad!” Aza huffed, “but yeah, I have no idea how that rumour happened. Crisp and Bluebird make it no secret that I’m a klutz on the battlefield.”

And wasn’t that an amazing fact to know about the Warrior of Light? Aza Lynel, martial genius and arguably this era’s most skilled and powerful warrior: a terrible klutz. It was as if the Twelve took one look at him and thought, hmm, perhaps a handicap is needed here.  

“Stories grow legs, as some say,” Aymeric said, “and you wear the post-battle dishevelment quite well. I remember you looking only _slightly_ sooty after the battle with Nidhogg, even if I’m fairly certain you were trampled underfoot at some point.”

“Oh, yeah, I think he did step on me a few times,” Aza said thoughtfully, as if having several tonnes of dragon crushing him into Ishgardian stonework wasn’t a fatal and unpleasant experience; “It only broke a few ribs.”

“Only.”

“Yup,” Aza’s voice was cheerful, “I mean, relatively speaking, a few broken ribs are nothing. I didn’t puncture a lung or rupture any important organs, and on the pain scale, ribs are about, what? A three out of ten?”

Aymeric, who had broken his ribs during his training as a Temple Knight and therefore knew how debilitating the pain could be, said rather carefully; “Seven, at the least.”

“Really?” Aza shifted in Aymeric’s arms, rolling over until they were practically nose to nose, “Seven? Seems a bit high.”

“Perhaps I’m a bit delicate when it comes to broken bones.”

“A bit delicate…” Aza smiled a little deviously, “Hmmm, sounds about right~ I mean, you were very theatrical when you were stabbed that one time.”

“ _Theatrical-_ ” Aymeric laughed at the unexpected jab, “It was a very serious gut wound, I’ll have you know.”

“Mhm, I’m sure it was,” Aza said teasingly, “I’m all aflutter thinking about it.”

“You jest now, but I distinctly recall how you threatened to eviscerate my attempted assassin and feed him his own entrails,” Aymeric said dryly, still to this day mildly disturbed by that threat, “You were more than ‘aflutter’ then.”

“I was prepared to go all Dark Knight then, not going to lie,” Aza said shamelessly, “but I felt like you’d be upset with me if I started dishing out that kind of justice.”

Upset would have been putting it very mildly, “Thank you for restraining your homicidal urges.”

“Hmm, it took a lot of effort,” Aza purred, trailing his fingers along Aymeric’s side then over his stomach, lingering over the thin, pale scar from his ‘assassination’, “but the fact you were ultimately alive and well, despite their attempts, was enough to calm me down.”

It did beg the question of how Aza would have reacted if the assassin’s aim had been sure and true, though. Aymeric recalled the Warrior of Light’s vicious fury when Haurchefant fell, that low, snarled out oath to tear Zephirin’s heart out of his chest with his bare hands. For someone with such deep compassion, his rage was a terrifying, dark thing at times.   

Aymeric forcibly pushed those thoughts aside, steering the conversation to less tense waters, “I’m sure venting on the Flame General during the Grand Melee helped out too.”

Aza’s smile became wicked at that, and the sight of it was enough to make something warm curl in Aymeric’s belly; “I can’t deny that. That fight sent a _lovely_ tingle up my thighs, as hard pressed as I was during it.”

“Should I be jealous?”

Aza laughed, “Of Raubahn? No need. He’s far too devoted to the Sultana for that kind of thing.”

Aymeric huffed in quiet amusement, “But if he wasn’t devoted to the Sultana…”

“Well, he still isn’t you, even if he does hit hard enough to make my bones rattle,” Aza said, leaning in to kiss him nice and sweet on the mouth, “Speaking of, we should make time to fight soon.”

Aymeric felt his interest pique at that. While Aza would soundly trounce him in any kind of spar, he had felt he’d been stagnating a little on the fighting front. Being one of the cogs of the Ishgardian Republic hadn’t left him much time to hone his skills beyond what they were, so getting thrashed in the training ring by Aza sounded more appealing than it should.

“I might be able to make some time for it,” he said, settling his hand on Aza’s hip and pulling him close, “depending on how… private you want it to be.”

“Private,” Aza repeated, his voice’s pitch dropping slightly, “Well, that sounds mighty tempting.”

“Or I can have it be a public spectacle,” Aymeric continued, playing up a flimsy veil of obliviousness, “Make a mini-Grand Melee to include the Ala Mhig-”

Aza cut him off with a kiss that was deep and heated, and when they parted, flushed and breathless, Aymeric promptly forgot what he was trying to say.

“Uh,” he said intelligibly.

“Private’s good,” Aza purred, taking advantage of his brief daze to firmly push him onto his back, his smaller frame pressing him down against the bed. Despite his lean musculature, Aza was terrifyingly strong. “We can even make a game of it. Winner gets to fuck the loser. How does that sound?”

“Good. Sounds good,” Aymeric said a little breathlessly, under no illusion as to who’d be the definite winner in that private spar. He could feel excitement curl tight and hot inside of him at the thought of it.

Aza studied him for a moment, his mouth curving into an amused smile, “In that case… are you available tomorrow night?”

Aymeric very quickly consulted his mental calendar. He was… “After ten,” he said reluctantly, “for the rest of this week too.”

“Ah,” Aza sighed in resignation, “And you need to be up early too?”

Aymeric’s response was a quietly displeased noise.

“Guess we’ll shelve that idea for one of our Namedays, then,” Aza said quickly, rapidly recovering from the disappointment of dashed plans, “Or later this month. Who knows, your workload may lessen once Ala Mhigo’s gotten itself sorted out.”

“The Republic has stabilised itself,” Aymeric admitted cautiously, not wanting to give Aza false hope. While not demanding as much work hours, bureaucratic work was more energy intensive than micro-managing the military might of Ishgard in a foreign city state. Temple Knights gracefully took orders – politicians debated and argued. Which was the point of democracy, of course, but it was still mentally exhausting to deal with on a day by day basis.  

Aza grimaced, “I sense a ‘but’ there.”

It was times like these that made Aymeric aware how limited their relationship was because of their respective duties. Perhaps things would be easier if Aymeric simply passed his job onto someone else and took up his childish dream of discovering the wonders of the wider world like an adventurer, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that when Ishgard needed him still. Its Republic was still in its infancy and to leave now would jeopardise that.  He wouldn’t risk that, not even for Aza.

However…

“Next week,” Aymeric promised, because while he cannot leave Ishgard for Aza, he could certainly compromise, “We will have a day to ourselves.”

Aza blinked, obviously surprised, before smiling with hesitant hope, “Oh? A whole day?”

“A whole day,” he confirmed, already calculating what favours to pull and who to delegate to achieve this near impossible thing. He will pay for it, he knew but… one day. He could give Aza that much at the very least, “So, try not to get lost in the wilderness then.”

“That only happened once!” But Aza was smiling brilliantly, clearly too pleased to even pretend the slightest bit of huffiness, “I’ll be there, Aymeric. Not even Shinryu reborn will keep me away.”

Oof. He hoped he didn’t just jinx them with that.

“Don’t tempt fate,” Aymeric murmured, reaching up to curl his hand against the nape of Aza’s neck.

“Too late,” Aza chuckled, leaning in and trailing a hand down along his side, fingernails lightly dragging over the thin scar on his stomach, “If anything happens, I’ll see how Arenvald does as my understudy.”

And whatever further comments Aymeric may have had on that were soundly cut off by Aza kissing him, deep and hungry, until they both parted utterly breathless. Quite frankly, he forgot what they’d been talking about after that.

“Mm,” Aza pulled back, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he openly admired whatever face he was making; most likely kissed witless, as that was how he felt, “How early do you need to get up tomorrow?”

“Before dawn,” Aymeric murmured huskily, tilting his head back a fraction when Aza’s lips brushed over the curve of his jaw, then down to his throat, a slight graze of teeth… “A m-meeting first thing…”

Aza made a small humming noise of acknowledgement, pressing a kiss to his fluttering pulse-point, “With the Eorzean Alliance?” Aza didn’t wait for a response as he continued, “Hm, probably shouldn’t leave a mark, then…”

Aymeric curled his fingers into Aza’s soft hair, feeling his heart skip several beats at the thought of… it wasn’t as if the others were _blind_ , after all. It wouldn’t have been the first time he stumbled into a meeting with dark, blossoming marks lingering at the collar of his armour, and while their relationship wasn’t officially recognised, it was considered the worst kept secret in the entirety of Eorzea.

“It should be fine,” he said – only to draw in a sharp breath when Aza instantly acted on his consent. Miqo’te canines, he had discovered very early on in their relationship, were surprisingly sharp, but there was something about feeling them graze over his throat that made his pulse race with excitement. It helped that Aza knew _just_ about the right pressure to use, how to hover that line of pleasure-pain expertly and…

“Mmrrr… there…” Aza purred, sounding incredibly pleased with himself. He pushed up suddenly, catching Aymeric’s mouth in a firm yet quick kiss, pulling away before Aymeric could fully enjoy it, “Bed time, I think.”

Aymeric let out a frustrated groan before he could stop himself, “Aza, you…”

“Tease, I know~” he sing-songed, looking entirely unrepentant as he smiled down at him, “But if I don’t stop now, you’ll definitely regret it in the morning.”

Unfortunately, Aza was right. They had already been pushing it, conversing this late into the night with one another – and it wasn’t as if they had been chaste before then either. He let his fingers uncurl from Aza’s hair, sliding them down to rest against his nape, pulling him downwards. Aza obliged him, letting him lead them into a slow kiss.

“Nn, don’t try to tempt me…” Aza murmured against his mouth, not pulling away despite his words, “Tryin’ t’be, mm… responsible…”

“Mmhm…”

“Aymeric…” Aza groaned, nipping his bottom lip before gathering up his willpower to move back. His eyes were dark, cheeks lightly flushed and lips plump and kiss-reddened – an enticing sight, one that Aymeric reluctantly resisted. “And people say Miqo’te are the lusty ones.”

“You are lusty,” Aymeric said roughly, settling back against the bed and letting his hand trail up enough to lightly rub Aza behind his ears, watching as his eyes briefly fluttered shut from pleasure, “But my apologies… you’re simply irresistible.”

“I have no idea how you can say such things with such a straight face…” Aza muttered, looking a little pink now and not just from Aymeric’s pampering, “I’m just some ol’ scarred Miqo’te. Not perfection incarnate like you.”

There was so much Aymeric wanted to say in response to that. Aza was incredibly handsome, despite his protests to the contrary, and while his body was littered with scars old and new, they were a sign of his relentless determination that made him into the man he was today. If people thought that to be a turn-off, then it was their loss and Aymeric’s gain, quite frankly.

“I can lie here and wax poetics about your beauty,” Aymeric said blithely, unable to hide his smile at Aza’s embarrassed expression, “But I think it would take as much time as us coupling. So…”

“Hah, nice try,” Aza flicked his forehead playfully, “Please don’t wax poetics. I think I would just roll over and die from sheer mortification.”

“Hmm…” Aymeric looked up at him mischievously, but held his tongue when his partner frowned at him warningly, “As you wish,” he demurred.

Aza sniffed suspiciously, but leaned down to give him a chaste kiss, “Good. Now then, sleep.”

Aymeric sighed as the passionate moment passed, half-curling into Aza when he settled against his side. He found his hand lightly trailing over the scar on his hip – the ‘brick shithouse dragon’ one, as Aza called it – mapping it out with his fingers. Untouchable, people called him, but Aymeric definitely preferred it like this. Untouchable implied a type of inhumanness, which settled wrongly with him.

“I can hear you thinking…” Aza mumbled into his shoulder, “Turn your brain off.”

“My apologies,” Aymeric pressed the flat of his palm against his hip, “I was just thinking how I liked your scars.”

Aza’s embarrassment was palpable, but Aymeric could feel his smile as he nuzzled into his shoulder, his hand lightly swatting his side, “You’re such a sap.”

“Hrm…” Aymeric closed his eyes, letting himself drift into a sleep.

Yes, he most definitely preferred this.  

**Author's Note:**

> This is so incredibly self-indulgent but hey, sometimes you just need to write ridiculously romantic stuff. Once again open to prompts and the like, though I have some ideas after the recent patch (I may even, gasp, write ANGST!). PWP is still in the works, but lord I am rusty when it comes to that stuff. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's been following this series so far! Your likes and comments make my day!
> 
> Please comment and kudos if you liked!


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